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"Why Plates Are Round" Because, of breasts with their nipples, of eggs so warm beneath their hen they seem to pulse, to throb, to give birth to themselves the way when your mouth has been on my nipple so long I begin to dissolve, begin to travel through your body, all larger longer than my own and lodge there, both a conceiving and a consummating, of the way a fetus curls, you curl up like that when you are cold being too long without me, when you are dreaming of me and of you, when you make me small enough to be cradled inside you and I am heard the way long ago the curve of the cave wall listened to its women, of the way in front of the fire we make each other happy making a circle of ourselves, of the way your tongue, so all many fingered, moves in slow circles and mine doing the same, of the days you need to be told to eat and a plate tells you, says open, says parts inside of you all curve, remind you one of the other and all bring you back to womb, to me, of the circle in the center of your eye and around that another circle and around that the world, our own planet and all other planets and it is through these circles you find me, of the way flowers learn to stretch for sun, learn warm means round and want to grow up to be circles and mostly do and you give them to me to make my mouth curve the way petals do and your flowers in my hands make a better message than your mouth except when it is on mine, which is never often enough if you need these flowers to smile to me for you when it is only your smile in my hands I want, of what you are thinking of and what I am thinking of, the edges of seeds, the shape of cells, and you liking my kneecaps semi-elliptical and through them you coming to understand magic and my fascination with elbows and all, of the way when I put food on a plate for you I am what is on the plate and the secrets we make together, because of the way I love you and because spoon is a feminine noun.
~Frances Driscoll
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